Gentle Rain
by avroillusion
Summary: No matter what, the Masked Man's subordinates must never know why he has to go outside in the rain. Then they would find out that he still knew how to cry.


He didn't know why he kept going out in the rain. It was a particularly unwise thing to do. There were many more important things to be done: such as leading the army, accompanying Yokuba wherever the portly, little swindler wanted to go and oppress, and lastly, finding all of those highly annoying needles and pulling them out before that little brat could get to them. Metal was also a major part of his attire, and if he didn't dry it fast enough, it would surely rust. However, every time it rained he found himself wet, strangely tired, blinking furiously and looking at the sky. While this was very unusual behaviour for the Commander, the rest of the Pig Mask army thought it was incredibly cool anyway. Maybe it was because he looked strong and capable by himself, standing up against bothersome nature and Mother Earth. Perhaps it was that they kept pondering, gossiping and theorizing about what he was doing and why, and it just strengthened the aura of power and mystery that he always seem to give off.

They couldn't possibly know his reasons. He went out to hide the tears that always came when it rained.

He didn't know why he cried; he felt no need to sob or scream out or whatever he'd seen any Pig Mask footsoldier do. They just came; even when he thought those scientists had gotten rid of those nasty emotions. They said that they had gotten it all; he shouldn't feel sadness, or anger, or love or anything. Perhaps there was a scientist who took pity on him somewhere, even if he needed no pity. All he knew was that they came, he could not stop it, and he could not let them see him like this.

He also needed to stay awake; to starve off the dreams that would come up at night. They were confusing, and frenzied, filled with pink and brown…and red. The world always moved so fast around him and there was nothing he could do. After it all, the his vision would be reduced to nothing but rushing lines of blue and white, as if he was flying at super speeds or caught up in the dizzying pull of a stream. They were so maddening, dumbfounding and absolutely frightening. He would find himself waking up in cold sweat, and that was nothing no soldier should ever, ever see.

Plus, he kept seeing His face and he didn't even know why.

He didn't know His name, or at least, he couldn't remember it. They always called him "the brat", so that was who He was. _That whiny_, Sometimes, moving through that blue-white world, he'd see him, lost and afraid, speeding through the mutinous world behind him, His eyes were so wide; he had never seen Him so terrified, even when he was awake. He_ traitorous_, always had his arms out, flailing, trying to reach out to something. He_ blasphemous_, was looking for something to protect him, to hold on to. For some reason, He _lying_, needed him, and he didn't have the strength to even reach out _crybaby_... and grab Him.

_I…_

_I miss you…_

The Commander snorted at the irony, which was odd in itself. It was stupid and disgusting, but the feeling was there. Sometimes, he would remember something on the verge of his memory-of there being warmth and light and _other-ness_ in spite of the rain, the darkness and being soaked to the bone. He was always there, and when he couldn't see Him and there were loud noises all around him, he knew Him by His scent...by His warmth. It was so disgusting and stupid stupid stupid that sometimes he felt like casting himself off; a replaceable, faulty servant like those Clay Guys they were always forging. He always needed King P to save him-wall him up in one of those little capsules, fill it up to his head in green fluid-and drown all his emotions. He would be fine then, an obedient, complacent fighting machine until the rain came again and reminded him of a time long ago when it was also raining, back when he had the capacity to love.

He didn't even know why he called Him a crybaby, because in all the times he had ever seen the brat, he never, ever cried.


End file.
